Let me explain how I am assailed by a desire to take a picture. Sometimes it's like the continuation of a dream. One morning I wake up with an extraordinary zest for life.
Robert Doisneau (1912-1994).
I like books because I can be different. And because I can capture type others, and myself, as I am not able to do any of the many ways that exist. I know people whose mind is filled with pictures: recognize the cities without having ever set foot, you can imagine as they were twenty years ago, storing frames as I learn the poems. That extraordinary zest for life can be, too, the extraordinary joy of writing. And to decide to want to write differently.
suddenly appeared to me the memory.
Marcel Proust (1871-1922)Write
fixed memory. The memory still photography. And all this time, memory and photography and testimony have meaning almost the same things. I bought a camera for that. To write, too, as I write with a pen, a keyboard, a pen. To learn a language. To recognize rules. To have what I see when I write or what would not be able to have written.
The most important element in a photograph can not be defined.
Auguste Renoir. (1841-1919)
point of view from the window of Le Gras . This is called the oldest picture is preserved. Eight hours of exposure from there and from elsewhere. Does writing to tell what? Where do you look? Where? Perhaps you recognize yourself in the old pictures, as you do not ever in the old texts that you wrote.
The image is of Nicephore Niepce and is, precisely, of course, "Point of view from the window of Le Gras."
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